


Value

by neverminetohold



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, No Spoilers, POV: Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things we hold dear vary and actions speak louder than words...</p>
<p> <br/>"Song Unsung" -  Series: Three words. Some people need to hear them spoken out loud. Others see and hear them clearly without a word being uttered...</p>
<p> <br/>Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Value

 

“... and how Anderson managed to miss a fingerprint as deliberately placed as that is beyond me,” Sherlock exclaimed, using the bow in his hand to illustrate his point with vicious jabs at empty air. He had long since stopped his final review of the case and switched to a rant against Scotland Yard's so called 'professionals'.  
  
John, having sat down more heavily in his armchair than usual, after making some tea – glaringly obvious conclusion: exhausted from the long chase but putting up a brave face - had restricted himself to making some appreciative noises in all the right places during Sherlock's narrative.  
  
He stopped his restless pacing in front of the window just in time to avert a collision with a delicate tower of cold files; as it was it only swayed, brushing his cream pyjama trousers. Anyone with imagination might have mistaken the manilla folders for cacti, so littered with green post-its and used chopsticks were they.  
  
Sherlock leaned down and peered through the fogged windowpane. That woman was back, worrying her wedding ring – he wondered distantly how often she would walk up and down Baker Street before she finally worked up the courage to confront her wayward husband.  
  
Most of his attention may have rested on the redhead outside, but Sherlock picked up on the change in John's breathing immediately, had in fact waited for it. He turned to the sight of his flatmate curled up in his favourite armchair, head tilted to rest on the arm he had thrown over the back. Sherlock studied his expression carefully, noting how the lines of stress, alertness and exhaustion smoothed out slowly with each passing minute.  
  
Memorizing John's relaxed face had narrowed his focus so completely that Sherlock almost missed it: Letting go of both violin and bow Sherlock was just in time to catch the half-full mug before it could topple from its precarious perch on John's knee. Lukewarm tea spilled over the brim but the carpet had been ruined well before - the fresh stain fit in neatly between burned holes and acid marks.  
  
Thankfully neither the rush of steps nor the dissonant noise from a violin hitting books had woken John; unusual and as such indicative of the depth of his fatigue. Already considering an excuse to get them both a vacation with Mycroft paying the bills, Sherlock set the mug down on the table.  
  
Finding a blanket required navigating a mould eaten experiment but at least it was neither for shock nor orange, but a comfy and blue one – and devoid of dust bunnies after a discreet journey to the window. John only huffed a bit as Sherlock tucked him in. Smoothing the cloth, he let the tips of his fingers brush over a sliver of exposed skin, feeling its warmth, thus confirming this moment as reality.  
  
It was an afterthought minutes later that Sherlock bent down and retrieved his abused Stradivarius.  
  
Somewhen along the way, its value in Sherlock's life had changed.  
  
  
End


End file.
